Spiral
by Riptide2
Summary: Seventy-two is the natural number following seventy-one and preceding seventy-three. Sam knows this. He's a mathlete, after all. But Sam knows something else as well. Because seventy-two is also the number of hours that Callen has left to live... Episode tag to 6X12 "Spiral"
1. Spiral

Spiral

"_A blessed thing it is for any man or woman to have a friend, one human soul whom we can trust utterly, who knows the best and worst of us, and who loves us in spite of all our faults." – Charles Kingsley._

Seventy-two is the natural number following seventy-one and preceding seventy-three. It's half a gross, six times twelve, and the sum of either four or six consecutive primes. It's a pronic number, the product of eight and nine. It's the smallest number whose fifth power is the sum of five smaller fifth powers. Sam knows all this. He's a mathlete after all, _junior math Olympian, damn it._ But Sam knows something else too…

Because seventy-two is also the number of hours that Callen has left to live.

Sam sinks to his knees his gun still in one hand the other reaching out to clutch the silver case of vials that have caused so much trouble. There are two dead Irish militants laying in front of him that still need to be cleared and the idling helicopter that has to be checked yet, but Sam's blocking out all of it. He can hear Kensi and Deeks coming up behind him, even footfalls and unchecked worry as Deeks asks where Callen is. He remembers the redhead's spiteful glare as she smashed that vial at Jimmy's feet, remembers the realization on Kensi face as he told her to call in a CDC team. Most of all he remembers latent panic, the fear in his partner's eyes as he ordered Sam to leave him. _Finish it._

_71 Hours, 53 minutes._

And then Sam _runs_. He's down four flights of stairs in less than two minutes, but it's still too long. He collapses in front of the biohazard door, hands on his knees and ragged panting as he tries to get his breath back. When he looks back up Callen's watching him, blue eyes bright with fever and a sliver of well hidden panic. His gun's still clutched in his other hand even as he sways on his feet and a tinge of red appears on his fingers as he divulges into a coughing spell that leaves him shaky and leaning on the wall for support.

Something twists in Sam's gut, something that makes him want to shoot Dr. Karen Ward all over again, but he swallows it down and steps closer instead, knocking lightly on the glass to get his partner's attention. "G," He calls even though Callen probably can't hear him through five inches of safety glass, "You ok?"

And then he realizes what an absolutely stupid question that is because his partner's as good as the walking dead and they both know it. _Think Ebola on steroids. Fatal in seventy-two hours…_

There's no good way out of this, no terrorist to fight or ransom to make. There's no one to interrogate and the only one to blame is already lying dead. Except for himself of course, he can blame himself as much as he wants because he should have been there. He never should have stepped out into the hallway to take that sat phone call. He never should have left his partner alone in the same room as an unknown and a fatal virus. This is all on him.

Except Callen's nodding, even as the "_I'm fine"_ that's bubbling up on his lips gets cut off into another coughing fit that leaves even more of a red stain smeared across his fingers. By the time it's done, he's on his knees, leaning heavily against the wall and Sam imagines he can hear the rattle of breath in and out of his partner's lungs even through almost half a foot of specially sealed door.

It brings out almost the same thing Sam feels when his daughter's sick or hurting, the urge to take G home and bundle him up on the couch until everything's better. That's not an option this time though, not unless he wants to expose over a hundred people to a deadly virus. He knows he probably shouldn't be this close, the damn thing's air borne and this entire hallway could be exposed but there's no way he's leaving, not again.

Callen's saying something, a dry rasp that's too distorted by insulated glass for Sam to make out and it takes two more tries before his partner resorts to convoluted sign language to get his point across. "Did you get her?"

"Yeah," Sam nods, speaking slow and clear so G can read his lips if nothing else, "Spiral's secure. Listen, there's a CDC team on the way for decontamination. We'll get you out of there."

But Callen's shaking his head instantly, his words slow off of red tinted lips, "It's too late for that. You heard what Eric said."

"No," Sam snaps loudly, too harshly for a situation like this, "Eric can be wrong. You'll be -"

The word _fine_ dries up in his throat as Callen coughs again, a wet choking sound that he really can hear through five inches of glass. This time the blood on his hands is undeniable and the weak grin G gives him is gruesome, "He's not wrong, Sam."

His hands shake slightly as he says those words, the sliver of panic more defined in his eyes, and Sam gets the sudden sense that he's holding it together for _him_. Sam remembers telling G, years before, that his greatest fear was being forced to watch his partner die. His fear of clowns doesn't even come close and it occurs to him that G knows this, knows exactly what this must be doing to him, and the stubborn, selfless, _bastard_ must be trying to protect him. It's so patently G that Sam's surprised he didn't see it sooner.

He wants to reach out and shake him, to tell him that he doesn't need protecting right now. He just needs his partner to be okay. He wants to wrap G up and prove to himself that his partner's not dying, that this is something they can overcome. But he knows better than that. There's finality in Callen's eyes, buried underneath the fear and doubt and guilt. So he nods and tries not to make this any harder. His quiet, "I know," sounds like a betrayal and it's bitter across his tongue. He's done the right thing though; he knows it as soon as the guilt in his partner's eyes eases into steady relief.

"Sam," Callen presses a shaky hand against the glass, blood smearing off his palm, and Sam lifts his own to lay it opposite. He refuses to imagine the effort this must be taking because Callen's as pale as the whitewashed walls of the bio lab behind him. "It's not your fault."

_70 Hours, 18 minutes._

It takes an hour and a half for the CDC team to get there. An hour and a half that Sam spends rooted to the spot, one hand pressed against the glass long after Callen's falls away. His partner's not dead, not yet, and Sam counts every one of his stuttering, uneven breaths the same way he counts the minutes that have passed.

It's the CDC team that finally forces him to move and even then they have to resort to having Deeks bodily drag him away. They work fast, whispering words like experimental and isolation and heaven help them if they think that he's going to let them turn his partner into some kind of experiment. His temper's frayed and when the CDC scientist in charge asks him for Callen's medical history he nearly takes her head off.

_69 Hours, 42 minutes._

Hetty shows up half an hour after the CDC, two hours since that crazy Irishwoman sealed his partner's death warrant. If it was anyone else, he'd ask what took so long, but Hetty comes in like a whirlwind. She might claim not to play favorites but everyone knows that she'll move mountains for Clara Callen's son. She goes to bat with the chief scientist on site, arranges a transfer to CDC headquarters in Druid Hills, Georgia, and when she finally comes back over to where the team's waiting it's with a surprising air of relief.

"He didn't even think twice about locking himself inside." He's in shock; Sam thinks to himself, this has to be shock because the world's dimmed around him. He doesn't hear Hetty's quiet footsteps behind him, doesn't hear her response, or feel the small hand she lays against his arm. "I didn't think it would end like this."

That hand on his arm squeezes slightly and once again he's struck by the lack of… _something_ in her features. Hetty's a legend in every way imaginable, but even she's a little too unaffected. "I've seen the end, Sam. _This_ is not the end."


	2. Countdown

Countdown

"_How did it get so late so soon? It's night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flown... How did it get so late so soon?"- Dr. Seuss._

_64 Hours, 21 minutes._

Someone once said that time is a fickle mistress, but Sam's never realized the truth in that quite as clearly until now. It takes another forty-five minutes to arrange a flight, and four hours on a quarantined CDC flight to arrive in Druid Hills, Georgia. He hasn't seen his partner since they left L.A. and when his phone goes off in the corridor of the CDC's headquarters he has to resist the urge to bang his head against the wall.

He retreats from the nurse that shoots a dirty look his way and drops his head into his hands as the O.S.P.'s number appears on his phone's caller I.D. He's got no more answers for them than he did five hours ago when he last saw Callen and all he wants to do is find his partner. He'll figure out the rest from there.

He thumbs the talk button, presses the phone to his ear, and mutters something that's meant to be 'Hello'. It comes out closer to a mix between a grunt and 'Go Away', but he figures he has ample excuse. If one more CDC doctor mentions how sorry they are for his loss, he's going to snap because his partner's _not dead_, not yet. It's denial or wishful thinking, or some combination of both, and he's more than happy to indulge in that for now.

"_Sam?"_ Its Eric's voice on the phone, sounding tiny and decidedly strung out, _"Did you hear what I just said?"_

There's a moment of silence where Sam stares at his phone's screen because there's no way he just spaced out and missed part of the conversation, except apparently he did. _"Sam?"_

He shakes his head to clear it, raising the phone back to his ear. He can't afford to lose it right now, later yes, but not right now. And damn if that inner voice doesn't sound a heck of a lot like Callen. _I need your a-game right now, Big Guy._ "Go ahead, Eric."

"_We found a cure."_

The phone slips from numb fingers and clatters across the floor. He knew it couldn't be over that easily, knew this couldn't be the end of a friendship, of a brotherhood, that's been built quite literally out of blood, sweat, and tears. _This is not the end._ And now his inner voice is starting to sound remarkably like Hetty. He'll be worried about that later.

For now, he pulls his wits together and reaches for the phone he's dropped. Except it really is Hetty's voice now, and he finds it grounding in a way but also a tinge irritating because either she's developed phenomenal foresight or she's been keeping things from them again. "You knew about this."

It's an accusation, a _how could you?_ Because he's been thinking that his partner's as good as dead for _seven hours and thirty-nine minutes_ and she never once thought it would be a good idea to bring it up before now. Except he doesn't have time right now for her evasiveness, doesn't have time to listen to her answers and guess how much is the truth because there's still a ticking clock and it's not going to wait for him. _"How, Eric?"_

"_Blanchard told the Irish militia about the bio weapon. What he didn't tell them was that Gamma-Grade already had a cure in the works. We just got done talking with the CEO of Gamma-Grade Pharmaceuticals. The cure is being flown to CDC headquarters as we speak."_

Eric's a little breathless by the end of his explanation, but that's nothing compared to Sam himself. There's a fireburning in his gut and a giddiness that's making his head spin because there's a cure and Callen's still holding on which means there's still time, still hope. _Keep hope alive._

"Good work, Eric." He pockets the phone and turns in search of his partner because, come hell or high water, he's _not_ leaving him again.


	3. Minutes

**A/N: **Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed, or added this story to follows and favorites! The response means a lot to me. I'm sorry for the delay with this chapter, but certain parts were proving harder to write than others. I'd love to know what you think. Thanks, Riptide.

P.S. Some of Callen's dialogue in this chapter is in Romani with translations at the end, but you can read and understand it just fine without knowing exactly what he's saying. I apologize in advance for any mistakes in translation. I'm only as good as Google Translate.

Minutes

"_Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever." - Horace Mann._

Callen's been unconscious for nearly eight hours by the time the CDC flight carrying Gamma-Grade Pharmaceuticals miracle cure arrives. Sam hasn't left the door to his partner's quarantine room in almost half that time. The doctors have been in and out of the room breathing words like intubation and ventilator and Sam's starting to go stir crazy because they still won't let him inside.

_60 Hours, 17 minutes._

That's what his countdown's sitting at when the cure finally arrives. Almost twelve hours have passed since Karen Ward smashed that vial at his partner's feet, one-sixth of his time gone already, and Sam watches with a wince on Callen's behalf as the chief scientist in charge empties the syringe into his partner's arm.

_58 Hours, 43 minutes._

It's been an hour and a half since his partner was given the Spiral vaccine, nearly fourteen since everything went to hell in a hand basket, when Sam's finally let back in the room. The CDC's optimistic that he's no longer contagious, but Sam's been inoculated anyway, on Hetty's orders he suspects.

Now he takes in the grey pallor of his partner's skin, the utter motionlessness that's settled around him, and sinks into the chair beside the bed. One hand reaches out to wrap around G's wrist, counting heartbeats in time with the shallow breaths he takes and the minutes that have passed. His pulse is slow and a tad unsteady. Callen might have the cure, but he's a long way from out of the woods. It's more than he had any right to expect though, and Sam's eternally gratefully for it.

_51 Hours, 39 minutes._

He sits like that for the rest of the night and well into the next morning, counting heartbeats and shaky breaths to the tick of the minute hand. It's one of the CDC's in-house doctors that forces Sam to move sometime early Tuesday morning. He's taking Callen's vitals as he mentions a scant breakfast available at the nurse's station down the hall and as Sam's stomach growls in time with his words the doctor gives a rueful smile and a laugh, the first one Sam's heard since this nightmare started.

He shoots a glance at his partner's pale face and nods in the doctor's direction before creaking to his feet, muscles stiff after so long in one position. He forces himself to move out the door, shuts it softly behind him, and pushes down the guilt that threatens to make itself known again as soon as he's out of sight of his partner. He's got a bad feeling curling in the pit of his stomach like he's eaten something bad, and Sam does his best to ignore it as he hits up the bathroom and then the nurse's station to discover that breakfast around here means day old banana nut muffins and coffee that's as thick as his granny's stew.

He's half way through his muffin, exchanging '_I love you's _with Michelle via text who's still up waiting for news despite it being the middle of the night in LA, and contemplating asking for a spoon for his coffee when the alarms start going off.

He doesn't have to bother asking where they're coming from, just drops his cup of caffeinated sludge and _runs._

_51 Hours, 31 minutes._

Nineteen hours after Callen loses consciousness in that biohazard room, he's awake again. Except the moment Sam rounds the corner and locks eyes on his partner, he knows _awake_ isn't the right word to use. The doctor who had been checking his vitals when Sam left is on the floor, clutching his bloody nose. Callen's pressed against the wall in the far corner, cowering between the IV pole and the chair that Sam's spent the last twelve hours in. His eyes are wild and fever-bright, and he flinches away with every shriek of the heart monitor.

Sam lurches forward a step, every ounce of his being demanding that he get to his partner _now._ G's eyes lock on to him the instant he steps inside the door, every inch of his body going rigid with tension. His breathing's ragged, skin as pale as the hospital garb he's wearing, and Sam can barely see the blue of his irises around the black of his pupils.

Sam freezes, hands going up automatically in the universal sign of surrender, because Callen's unarmed and half-dead but he's still one of the most dangerous men Sam's ever known. He knows his partner, trusts G with his life and his family, and he knows Callen would never do anything to hurt him. But Callen's delirious and probably hallucinating and Sam's more worried about him hurting himself than one of them. "Callen," He calls softly, modulating his voice to the tone he uses with his daughter after a nightmare. He never imagined he'd have to include his partner in that category. "G, you hear me partner?"

"Sam," G mutters his voice a harsh rasp that's painfully against his ears, "_Nu e_ _în siguranță__. Trebuie să plece nu e sigur…"_

"I'm right here, G." Sam keeps his voice level and as steady as he can as he crouches down, trying to make himself less of a threat. He makes it a single step closer before Callen's eyes skitter away to fix on something over his shoulder. It's the chief CDC scientist and the blonde nurse that had administered Sam's dose of the Spiral vaccine standing in the doorway. He waves them in quickly, toward the doctor on the floor who's still holding his most likely broken nose. The nurse goes immediately to the injured man on the floor and Sam has to catch her wrist as the head scientist - a Dr. Freidman, whose first name he hadn't bothered to ask for or remember - tries to move past him toward Callen.

He shakes his head at her, keeping his voice the same calm, steady murmur, "I've got this. You're going to get yourself hurt if you go near him now."

She shoots a glance between them, taking in the brightness of fever in Callen's eyes and the sweat that's beading along his hairline before she nods, backing off to help the nurse get their injured colleague out into the hallway.

Sam turns his attention back to G the instant they clear the threshold, noticing that his breathing ratchets down a notch now that the extra people are out of the room. "G," He murmurs softly, waiting until his partner's eyes meet his again, "Callen, it's Sam. You're okay. You're in the hospital."

"Nu trebuia să vină, Sam, nu e în siguranță," Callen's eyes are still wild, unfocused in a way that makes Sam nervous, but at least he's _talking_ to Sam again. "Trebuie să plece înainte de a veni înapoi..."

"English, G," Sam chides. He's been around a concussed Callen enough times to know that this is the drugs they've had him on talking, but he can't help but worry. The Spiral virus is beyond experimental and the vaccine's never even been tested. They're riding an awful lot on a wish and a prayer and Sam suddenly finds himself thinking about side effects that he doubts anyone else has yet.

"Lăsați, Sam," Callen exclaims suddenly, scooting out from the corner to wrap burning fingers around Sam's forearm and he winces to feel the heat pouring off his partner's skin. He's feverish and delusional, but there's a frantic urgency in G's eyes, an underlying fear that makes Sam sick. This is his partner, his brother. It's almost like a kick in the gut to see him like this. Callen pushes him away suddenly and there's more force in the move than Sam was expecting because it rocks him back enough that he has to catch himself on the foot of the hospital bed. "He'll kill you, Sam. Trebuie să plece înainte de a se întoarce... "

"English, partner," Sam says again, pushing himself back onto his haunches with a grunt, Callen might be smaller, but he knows how to throw his weight around and that shove was stronger than Sam expected. He inches forward getting close enough that he can catch one of G's wrists, feeling the runaway pulse fluttering under his fingertips. "Or this is going to be a very one-sided conversation."

"Sam?" Callen blinks like he's trying to focus, confusion clouding the backlit brightness of fever in his eyes, "What happened?"

Sam breathes a sigh of relief that rushes all the way down to his toes. He feels like laughing, maybe hysterically, but that seems inappropriate so he just reaches out to squeeze Callen's shoulder, frowning when he feels the heat still pouring off his partner's skin. "It's okay. You're at the-"

He knows something's wrong the instant he feels Callen go rigid under his hands. Every muscle in his body is suddenly drawn in tension, taunt like a bowstring. There's fear in the widening set of his eyes, desperation writ across his face, and when Sam squeezes his shoulder again in a way that he hopes is grounding, comforting, he's shaking, fine tremors rattling through him. "G," Sam says quietly, voice coming out in a barely there whisper, as if he's afraid to startle his partner, like he's dealing with some kind of wild animal, "What's wrong?"

His lips part in a wordless cry and it's a sound that _Sam_ _never, ever wants to hear again._ There's a kind of unspeakable pain in that sound, desperation, panic giving way to undiluted, clear cut _rage _in a way that Sam didn't think his partner capable of because he's a good man at heart, once you got past the ready violence and layers of distrust.

"G," He says again and it's like his voice shatters the spell because Callen's fighting him all of a sudden which shouldn't be possible considering he was unconscious and fighting for his life a few hours ago, except apparently no one bothered to tell him that.

The Callen that Sam knows fights like some people play chess and he's always two steps ahead, but _this_ isn't that Callen. _This_ is probably the most disorganized that Sam's ever seen his partner. He's kicking out, blunt fingers digging into Sam's shoulders in an attempt to push him away, putting every ounce of his strength into trying to get past him. There's a desperate edge in the way he throws himself at Sam, panic shining clear in his eyes like it's going to kill him if he doesn't get away right this second, and maybe in his fever addled brain it is but Sam's got to stop this because he's going to hurt himself if he keeps this up.

Sam catches first one of G's wrists and then the other as he reaches over to claw at Sam's fingers. He shifts in an awkward half-crouch that he knows his back isn't going to thank him for later, pulling his struggling partner closer. G's still fighting, too damn stubborn to give up even with Sam holding both his wrists, and Sam's forced to pin him, wrapping his arms around Callen's shaking form to pull him back, his partner's back flush against Sam's chest, forcing his arms down and crossing his fisted hands in front of them.

Callen's still thrashing and he throws his head back in the hopes of catching Sam in the face, but the height difference between them means that he only succeeds in ramming the back of his head into Sam's collarbone. He starts shouting again then, cursing and screaming in the same language from earlier that Sam understands exactly none of, before his voice falls to helpless pleading. It twists something in Sam, the same something that came out after watching his partner almost bleed out on that street in Venice Beach five years ago, because he can hear his own name mixed into the pleading at regular intervals.

Sam starts up a steady litany of mindless words, still holding his struggling partner even though G's thrashing has turned half-hearted, and Sam matches Callen's pleading, maybe adds a little of his own, because it's the only thing he can think of to get through to G. Eventually it seems to work because Callen just kind of crumples, the fight bleeding out of his muscles and Sam holds his limp partner in his arms as the doctors flood back in.

_46 Hours, 37 minutes._

Its five hours later when he leaves Callen's side long enough to update the rest of the team, twenty-four hours since his partner collapsed in Gamma-Grade Pharmaceutical's research lab back in L.A. One full day, one-third of his time's gone already. It's just after six in the morning back on the west coast and Hetty's the only one in the office. Maybe that's why he bothers to ask, because it's been eating at him for the last five hours. He sends a copy of his partner's fever induced hallucination back to Hetty, courtesy of the cameras and audio the CDC keeps in all their rooms to monitor patients, to see if she can translate. He's expecting a text back, nothing more, but when his phone rings on his way back to Callen's room and Hetty's caller id appears on the screen he answers on the second ring.

"_It's Romani," _Hetty says instead of 'hello' and her tone makes something twist in Sam's gut. _"He was seeing you in enemy hands, Sam. Mr. Callen believes he watched you die."_

…

_Nu e_ _în siguranță__. Trebuie să plece nu e sigur. = It's not safe. You need to leave it is not safe._

_Nu trebuia să vină, Sam, nu e în siguranță = __You should not have come, Sam, it's not safe._

_Trebuie să plece înainte de a veni înapoi = You need to leave before they come back._

_Lăsați = Leave._

_Trebuie să plece înainte de a se întoarce = You have to go before he comes back._


	4. Recovery

**A/N: **Thanks so much to everyone to reviewed and put this story on follows and favorites! I hope this last chapter doesn't disappoint. I'll apologize in advance for any mistakes in medical terminology in this chapter. My first aide knowledge only goes as far as Band-Aids and Polysporin. Thanks again, Riptide

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS: Los Angeles or any affiliated media and do not profit in any way from this. Except of course for reviews that are food for the plot bunnies… ;)

Recovery

"_The home is to him his castle and fortress, as well for his defence against injury and violence, as for his repose." – Edward Coke._

Callen lapses in and out of consciousness for the next twelve hours, and Sam stays by his side for the rest of the day and into the night. He's drugged to the gills and restrained to his hospital bed at the wrists and ankles. It's a fact that Sam hates, but it's for his own good. Sam's painfully aware of the chances of Callen hurting himself or one of them in another fever induced hallucination.

Callen's on wide spectrum antibiotics, enough morphine to drop a horse for the tearing in his lungs thanks to the Spiral virus, and of course the vaccine itself, and the CDC's cautious of introducing tranquilizers on top of all the other untested pharmaceuticals in Callen's system so that option's out for the time being. That leaves Sam with nothing to do, but sit at his partner's bedside and worry.

Even with all that crap floating through his bloodstream though, Callen's sleep is far from peaceful. He fights the restraints almost constantly drifting between every language in his extended repertoire, only some of which Sam understands. Most of which he wishes he didn't because Callen's nightmares are exactly that.

Sam watches as Callen relives old operations in his sleep, watches as his partner pleads with injured colleagues and old friends to _just hold on, man, don't do this to me now. _He listens as Callen's cover gets compromised – _sold out by someone he thought he could trust_, listens as Callen gets taken by the same guys he was sent to take down, and he listens as his partner gets interrogated – _tortured – _for information.

Sam sits by his partner's side until he can't bear to _listen_ anymore and then he retreats into the hallway and drops his head into his hands, and prays that this is the drugs talking. That Callen's hallucinating, not _remembering._

_34 Hours, 14 minutes._

It is 9 o'clock that night – just after six p.m. on the west coast – when Sam hangs up from his video call with the team back in L.A. He's given them an abridged version of the details of Callen's condition because he's certain that his partner wouldn't appreciate them knowing about any of the things he's revealed in his sleep. At this point, Sam would give just about anything to forget some of the things he's learned about Callen's past in the last thirty-six hours.

An old CO once called Sam the bravest of his SEALs, but it takes every ounce of Sam's courage to walk back into that quarantine room.

_23 Hours, 57 minutes._

It's a long night and not one Sam ever wants to repeat. He's gritty eyed and hasn't slept a wink in nearly forty-eight hours by the time morning rolls around. There's a rage rolling in his gut and Sam has the overriding desire to hit the next person that walks through the door. Callen's been shifting between hallucinations all through the night, his consciousness flowing as easily as quicksilver from one extreme to the next which is, of course, the reason that Sam's blood is boiling.

He's heard more of the horrors of his partner's childhood than he ever wanted to and now he doesn't know what exactly he's supposed to do with this information. He knows what he _wants_ to do, and that's to find every abusive foster parent and sucky Child Services worker and beat them to a pulp. There are only two things stopping him. The first is obvious and that's the thought of his partner waking up in Druid Hills, Georgia alone.

The second is a little more complicated and it stems around Callen's 3 a.m. confession to a fever induced spectre that he never meant for Jason to die. Sam remembers listening nearly five years earlier as Callen told the story of watching a foster brother being beaten to death while trying to protect G from their alcoholic supposed guardian in the hopes of getting a smuggling, knucklehead of a Marine to talk. He remembers brushing the story off as nothing more than a made up ploy because the alternative was something he didn't want to think about. Now he's got nothing but time to think.

_00 Hours, 03 minutes._

Seventy-two hours passes in the early morning stillness of day three of Sam's vigil. He's dosing, slumped in the reclining chair that he's plagiarized from the nurses' lounge. Sam's got his feet up on the edge of G's hospital bed and one hand wrapped carefully around his partner's wrist, counting heartbeats and the minutes that have passed even in his sleep.

Sam's always been a light sleeper, trained by years in the military when you slept wherever and whenever you could, and he jerks awake when his phone buzzes in the semi-dark, banging his knee against the side rail of the hospital bed. He reaches for his phone and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the timer that's now sitting at zero and the two texts that have come in within seconds of each other. One's from Kensi, and by proxy Deeks, and the other is from Eric's personal number. He reaches over to lay a hand on Callen's shoulder - careful of the IV and heart monitor leads – feeling the shaky rise and fall of his partner's breaths and smiles to realize that he wasn't the only one watching the clock.

Two days after the seventy-two hour deadline passes Sam watches as the doctors put his partner in a drug induced coma. He'll stay that way for another twelve days and seven hours.

Two weeks after collapsing in the research laboratory of Gamma Grade Pharmaceuticals, Callen opens his eyes again in a private room of the CDC's headquarters in Druid Hills, Georgia. Sam smiles, excuses himself from the nurse, and regains his place at his partner's side. Somewhere between getting Callen up to speed, and following through on his threat to fill the halls with the sound of music, Sam sits back and just enjoys the feeling of having his partner back.

Two weeks is half a month, and one twenty-sixth of a year. Its fourteen days, three hundred and thirty-six hours, and twenty thousand one hundred and sixty minutes. It's one million two hundred and nine thousand six hundred seconds. Sam knows all this because two weeks is also the amount of time it takes for Callen to come back to them.

_**The End**_

If you're interested, please take a look at my other NCIS: Los Angeles fics.

_Catching Fire:_ "Love is like a friendship caught on fire..." Deeks has been out of contact with his partner for over a month, when Callen breaks into his house with information that Kensi's classified mission is about to go sideways. Set after 5:14 'War Cries'.

_First Impressions:_ Callen, Sam, and Renko already make up NCIS: OSP's flagship team, but when Hetty decides that Renko needs a new partner Kensi Blye joins the team. She's tough, opinionated, and desperate to prove herself, but her new teammates aren't going to make that an easy task. Especially when a dangerous Mexican cartel and a Navy officer turned traitor are keeping OSP's finest on their toes…


End file.
